


The Nightingale Chronicles #6: Victory

by Losille



Series: The Nightingale Chronicles [6]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, F/M, Gen, Scotland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 13:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5498777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Losille/pseuds/Losille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While spending Christmas in Scotland with his family, Tom invites a complete stranger to spend the holiday with them.</p><p>Prompt #6/100: Mena sings for her hosts and she makes a mistake that could be costly.</p><p>***This is a part of a 100 prompt drabble challenge. Each update will be published as its own oneshot, though several of them will be written together for story arcs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nightingale Chronicles #6: Victory

**Author's Note:**

> A short one, but hoping I can get through the next much larger one shot for Christmas. If not, Happy Christmas everyone!

**Victory**

Mena expected the dinner conversation to be directed at her, but she was happy when it wasn’t. In fact, they pretty much ignored her and allowed to eat the amazing meal in peace. After the murderous looks from Olivia when she showed up to the drawing room, it was a small victory, but it was a victory nonetheless

It, however, did not surprise her that once dinner finished and the group retired to the drawing room again to open some token Christmas Eve gifts, that she would face the questions she had narrowly escape earlier in the evening. Olivia, having had sufficient time to regroup during dinner, could not wait to spring a return attack in a lull in the after dinner festivities

Each member of the family had gone to their own devices—whether it was conversation with each other or playing with their new toys. Tom ended up sitting at the grand piano in the corner of the room, plinking away at the ivory keys without really playing a recognizable tune. Mena, having exhausted her sniggering conversation with Emma over the video on her cell phone, moseyed back to him.

She set her hand on his shoulder to alert him to her presence, but he seemed to have known she was there. He didn’t jump or tense; he reached up and patted her hand before replacing his long fingers on the keys. A simple, familiar gesture that made something in her warm and tingle in the strangest way, but it was so fleeting, she didn’t have time to truly understand it.

Mena dipped closer to his ear and whispered to him. “You’re pretty good there, maestro.”

“Thanks,” he said. A slight tremor under her fingers was enough confirmation that a sexy, breathy whisper was enough to get a reaction. “Mum’s lessons when I was a child. I hated her for it.”

She giggled. “But it’s served you well, I bet.”

His grin made her heart sing.

“Scoot over.”

“I thought you didn’t play,” he said.

“I said I didn’t _write_ my own music,” she replied, pushing on his shoulder. “I didn’t say I couldn’t _play_.”

Tom slid to the side and looked up at her, patting the hard wooden spot beside him.  She carefully positioned herself in the seat and leaned over to the book of music sitting on the stand. However, she didn’t get far into the book of old standards when a high, clear voice called over the murmur of the room.

“Oh, Mena!” called Olivia. “Sing us something.”

Mena glanced in the woman’s direction, judging her adversary. Clearly, Olivia was willing to do anything she could to catch her rival in a lie; Tom’s father was not opposed to learning if she was telling the truth, either.  In fact, it piqued his interest so much, he sat up in his seat and focused on her—as it did the interests of all the other inhabitants of the room. Some were more sympathetic that she had been called out; other just wanted to see her trip and fall.

James commanded that she sing. “Come, Mena. I’m sure we’d all love a good carol this evening.”

She sighed.

“You don’t have to sing if you don’t want,” Tom whispered and lifted his head to look across the room. “Mena doesn’t have to sing.”

Mena stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I have no problem singing a song, Tom. Least I could do for your family’s generosity.”

“Do you need backup?” he asked, pointing to the keyboard.

She laughed. “I think I’ll do it a cappella.”

Mena stood from her seat and quickly positioned herself to the side of piano so everyone—even Tom—could see her properly while she sang.  She glanced at Olivia, who seemed to be wringing her hands with pleasure, thinking she was about to win this round.

“Now, I’ve not had time to properly warm up,” Mena warned. “So please be kind.”

Olivia was beside herself with glee and physically had to stop herself from clapping her hands together like a conniving villain. Mena was not beyond hustling Olivia to give her a brief taste of victory, but it would only be brief.

“I’m sure it’ll be lovely,” Diana said across the room. “What are you going to sing?”

“I think ‘Silent Night.’ Something short,” Mena replied.

She stepped in front of the piano and assumed a confident stance, one foot slightly angled and in front of the other, loosening her knees so she didn’t pass out.

And then she sang.

Though she did not warm up properly, she gained a slightly fuller and warmer sound moving through the first verse and chorus; this was a gift in itself, though she did not attempt any vocal acrobatics. By the second verse, it was smoother sailing.

They didn’t need an award-worthy performance—they needed confirmation that the person they were harboring wasn’t a liar. And she seemed to achieve that, and perhaps a little more, as she made a point to meet the eyes of each person in the room. Olivia was apoplectic as Mena held the last note. The room went silent.

Olivia spluttered and sat back in her seat. Mena dipped into a quick curtsey at the well-mannered applause from the others.

“Thank you, Mena,” James said. It was more than she imagined she’d ever get from him, but it was said with no small amount of begrudging surrender.

Mena bobbed her head and turned on her heels, catching sight of Tom for the first time.  She hobbled back to the spot she had vacated beside him, sitting down and crossing her legs.  His eyes, though staring at her face, took a second to glance down at her bare thigh and knee. He tried to hide his gentlemanly faux pas, but his cheeks pinked.

He cleared his throat. “That was brilliant.”

“It was good,” Mena said with a laugh. “But I’m out of practice. I haven’t even thought about practicing with my tour going to shit the past few weeks.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean? I thought you said you were a piano bar act.”

Mena swallowed the words in her mouth. Oh, God. Talk about being careless. “I am. I just haven’t been working the last few weeks.”

It seemed like a viable excuse as to why she hadn’t been singing, when in fact she hadn’t been singing because she’d been focusing on the burlesque. Still, she read his mistrust in the dissipating frown lines creasing his golden face.  He shook it off. At least she hoped that was what the shake of his head meant.

She coughed. “Anyway… give me that book again. I want to play something.”

Tom offered her the music book; she stuck her nose in it, praying that he would forget about the slip of her tongue.  He _had_ to forget about it, especially as she did not intend to tell him what she normally did on her tour, in between the singing engagements and the piano playing.


End file.
